


Rely on Me for a Change

by RyuichiroSakuraba



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Boy Love, Chariot x Fool, I Tried, M/M, P5 Trailer Aftermath, i just love these two, otp, warm ups to catch my hunky muse again, wth am i writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuichiroSakuraba/pseuds/RyuichiroSakuraba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sakamoto has always been oblivious about mundane things. A dual-faced Phantom Thief of Hearts would change that in a heartbeat – and probably steal the faux-blonde’s heart in the process. Well, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steal Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hm. Persona 5 PV 04 distracted me big time.  
> …and the phallic reference of that innuendo-laden popsicle stick just made my day.
> 
> This fic isn’t canon, since we still lack details about most of the other stuff until its release three months from now. So…yep. Just need to get this out of my system. And I named the protagonist Harada Seiichi so please bear with it.
> 
> EDIT: Now, it's still not canon (sadly), but at least Chair-kun has a name now. Lol.
> 
> P5 belongs to Atlus. I do hope I’d own a Morgana plushie or a Sakamoto ZOMG! shirt someday.

Dorobo-neko. Cat burglar.

He always had been a student, imprisoned in normal daily tasks of waking up in the morning, fending for his own self despite the disapproving eyes of the public due to his delinquency (he’s a hot-blooded teenager after all), attending school, work part-time for a bit for spending money, roaming across the streets before the sun fades into night, eat, sleep…

And the cycle begins anew.

Boring, yet manageable. Having a one-track mind had its perks, it seemed.

Sakamoto Ryuuji lived the same routine for the longest time, not a care in the world around him. Details didn’t matter much; he wouldn’t understand a lot of them anyway. As long as he’s fine, it was all that mattered. If things were simple enough, then that was that.

That night he gained the alias of Skull, causing something inside him to stir – and be a bit more aware of his surroundings.

 

A job’s a job. A hero’s gotta do what a hero’s gotta do. No exceptions.

 

* * *

 

Raiding the Palace in preparation for a big heist tended to be more fun than he expected. Sure, they were dealing with the big, the bad, and the ugly of the society, though the risk only made it all the more intriguing. Not that he cared much, but the nagging itch of curiosity and sense of delving into the unknown excited him – a welcome break from the mundane life, if you may.

Panther noted that he was stomping across the soft carpeted floor in dull thumps, causing Joker to hiss the universal gesture for silence. Mona, as usual, talked about how he was as stupid as a dead fish.

Irritated? That was new.

Joker, he remembered, was as mellow and quiet as a housecat (Mona’s a huge exception) and seeing him agitated by his apparent knack of having loud footsteps when they needed to be as covert as possible was truly a novel case indeed.

Of course, that earned him a shrill monologue from Panther turned Byakko and a soft tongue clicking of reprimand courtesy of Joker. He sustained a chest bruise that even an ungodly amount of Takamaki’s concealer won’t hide; it seems that despite Captain Kidd’s apparent resistance to physical blows, he wasn’t a pro thug who can tank such heavy critical attack. Having a PE class for tomorrow was just the icing on the cake; everyone might see his bruises at the changing room and it would spin the rumor mill crazy.

Despite his notorious reputation during daytime, Sakamoto couldn’t help but groan at the possible repercussions of his behavior – Kurusu subtly chewed his ear off on being careful not to raise unwanted suspicion for they lived dual lives now. He gave a lopsided grin to Kurusu and breathed out a clipped affirmation that he wouldn’t forget next time.

Nothing much to think about, Sakamoto resigned as they silently barged into Café Le Blanc; they got the blueprints of the area so the heist might be successful. After all, Kurusu’s the brain, and he’s the muscle – he could only shield everyone in case things went awry, or maybe force their way through with him as the battering ram.

That night was the first time he noticed how Kurusu’s normalcy cracked as the Joker peeled his gentleman mask and demanded him to strip his top off, a sense of urgency lacing his tone.

 

Soft. His hands were soft as he gently worked the bruise cream on his chest, taking care not to further aggravate his injury.

 

* * *

 

Crisis averted, Sakamoto lounged at the school roof, skipping class like he usually did after a tiring operation. Kurusu’s expulsion has been scrapped, and Kamoshida seemed to be okay; he wouldn’t be doing anything weird for the meantime or Panther herself would castrate him with bare hands.

Almost falling asleep, he jolted away from dreamland when someone pelted crinkly-packaged melon bread straight to his gut.

That hurt.

Surprised, Sakamoto propped his elbows on the warm concrete pavement and saw Kurusu raising an eyebrow with a disapproving look on his face, very much unlike how he seemed during class hours. Soon, it was followed by an interesting tirade; if he had the gall to skip class, then he at least shouldn’t miss lunch since he took most of the blows from last night’s heist and they needed him to recuperate nicely, as well as he should get his own watch since tended to lose track of time, and hence a number of skipped lunches, pretty easily.

That was the first time he realized that Kurusu was actually worried about him.

 

Hard. The Joker could really punch hard when he chuckled about his megane-leader being such a mother hen.

 

* * *

 

They were able to acquire Kitagawa’s support in joining their just cause (though conducting heists might make people think the otherwise) and the team’s firepower almost doubled. For a student who dabbled with artsy stuff he couldn’t even comprehend, Fox packed quite a punch – or slash.

Running across a distorted art gallery made his head spin, he thought he might hurl just by looking at the eye-straining color patterns. Fox’s nerdy perusal about the stuff inside his teacher’s lair wasn’t helping. Not that he was complaining; the whole dungeon was like peeking into a dizzying kaleidoscope.

Allowing Fox to lead the group since he was the one holding the map, Joker lagged until he was walking at the same pace as him. Fishing his satchel, the leader produced a blister pack of what he explained as over-the-counter headache pills and a small pouch of kiwi-flavored vitamin jelly drink to make the said medicine go down easily. He accepted it gratefully and downed the restorative along with a pill without any question.

It worked quite a bit in a few minutes for his nausea went down a few notches, though his repose was short-lived; the alarm system was triggered and demons would be circling them if they wouldn’t get out of the damn gallery in a heartbeat.

That was the first time he heard the Joker cuss beneath his breath, panic seeping into his orders of finding an escape route afterwards, always behind him throughout the insane running while steer clear from the plethora of demonic entities chasing after them. This meant more work for him, so he was glad to oblige even if he was queasy from all the visual stimulation. After all, adrenaline was the second best power up, with Joker's Baton Touches being the king of the ranks.

 

Refreshing. His voice was otherworldly refreshing yet he couldn’t place a finger on why he thought it that way.

 

* * *

 

Nijima hopped aboard the heist train and she exceeded all expectations. Her freaking Persona was a bad-ass motorcycle, she’s a melee brawler and adept at handling revolvers too, and she’s leagues way more dependable than him. She’s the student council president – that probably explained everything.

Skull couldn’t help feeling useless; Queen could tank strategically, provide assists in the backlines when required, receive Baton Touches from literally everyone and perform significantly better than how she normally was (which set the bar exorbitantly higher), and the list went on thanks to Mona’s incessant chattering which reminded him of nights with noisy cats on a tin roof. His mood soured not because of Nijima’s high-achiever profile, but more due to his incompetence. He admitted that Joker and Queen would be at par in the dependability charts and the Phantom Thieves of Hearts seemed to agree, himself included.

That didn’t make the nasty feeling go away easily. He was the resident tank and bruiser until she came along. It was nice to be a pillar of brute strength for the longest time and he relished the fact that even Fox acknowledged his unorthodox fighting style of becoming the team's offensive defense. Interestingly yet oddly enough, the Joker seemed to put him at the support team when the enemies in the area tended to be stronger than they had encountered – which meant he’s a permanent bench warmer.

How can a lowly, porous, bone-dry Skull compete with a Queen?

Muddled with questions of self-worth, Sakamoto lunged forward, ramming a few mechanoid demon guises along the way, leaving a trail of dark mist from mass extermination. He might be a little rusty, but that daring move proved highly effective, earning him the Queen’s seal of approval as well, admonishing him a little due to his rash actions and not following the leader’s directions.

However, he didn’t seem to notice the lone robot sniper had its laser scope aiming at his very heart.

Joker, staying near the backlines due to testing of his spellcasting Persona deck, figured what was about to happen; he immediately sprinted and shoved anyone blocking his path, abruptly pushing Skull away from the line of fire and casting a well-aimed Freila to immolate the blonde’s reaper with a localized bomb of radioactive isotopes.

That was the first time he noticed that Kurusu didn’t actually need glasses; he never wore them during heists so he thought that the reason he usually stuck close to the main party was that he had bad eyesight and needed everyone to be close to monitor them and provide commands as he deemed necessary.

 

Restless. Sakamoto was restless, apologies running in his head yet voicing out none of them, keeping vigil as Kurusu slept soundly after trying his best to dress his leader’s gunshot wound when the two of them went back to their abode at the second floor of Café Le Blanc. Dia can only do so much; it’s only good for scratches.

 

* * *

 

 

Days went by smoothly, and Sakamoto had the urge to get something insanely unhealthy in his mouth.

Sakura’s exploitation of Necronomicon’s powers (and her supreme hold over information across the net) led the girls of the team to actually figure out that they were a bit out of shape due to junk food they always munched at his and Kurusu’s living room – the team wordlessly pinned the place as their HQ, much to his annoyance. He can’t even read manga or play his handheld game in peace without hearing something along the lines of exercise and food that he couldn’t even pronounce. Hell, they were training at the Palace every now and then so the lady thieves shouldn’t have any trouble having not enough physical activity in the first place. But alas, even Okumura agreed that her family’s fast food chain was so fatty that she almost couldn’t imagine eating what they served, yet she still stuffed her mouth with their competitor’s quarterpounder burgers and still stayed slim; and that led the girls into a chlorophyll revolution.

What made it more annoying? Kitagawa (not surprisingly; he can be such a girl sometimes), Akechi and even the physically fit Kurusu (of course, they were in the same PE class) voted for it. Potato chips and pocky were replaced with sliced cucumbers and glazed carrot sticks. Even his side of the fridge was transformed into a lush greenery, while his stash of rootbeer was switched to vitamin water and organic fruit juice bottles.

Not that he minded the drink choice, but belonging to the opposition, he cannot live without his carbs, protein, and all that ungodly fat. He could endure the team’s sudden manipulation of the HQ menu for a day or two, but seriously, he couldn’t feel full with food only herbivores ruminate on.

Feeling the dire need to go out for binge eating and maybe an occasional smoke, Sakamoto went downstairs, nodded to Sakura’s father tending the coffee shop and stated that he will be heading to a ramen or yakitori shop. The old man chuckled elegantly and chided that Sakamoto didn’t have to worry about getting more than enough calories since he’s a growing boy and a man has to consume meat every so often. Enlightened with the owner’s affirmation, he stepped out with glee and traversed the lighted streets in search for something to satisfy his cravings.

On his way to the ramen shop several blocks away, he turned left to a semi-secluded alley to light a stick. He didn’t do it often, but for the past few days he had nothing but green stuff; some nicotine might alleviate his grating nerves.

The door several yards away opened, revealing a girl wearing a frilly maid outfit who was about to take out the trash to the dumpster a few steps away from her.

That was the first time he could not take away his eyes from someone. Even if Okumura could go overboard with the sophisticated lace outfit of her Noir identity, he thought that it just suited her and that was it. That girl was a different story. Never did he imagine he’d be looking at someone wearing a cosplay outfit for work since that was to be expected, especially in Akiba at the other side of the city, but the way she made something look dainty even if she was just pulling a trash bag outside…

…until a black cat stepped out of the door on two legs, gave out orders and teased the poor girl ala-Puss in Boots.

Forgetting to breathe for a second or two, he snuffed his half-finished stick and reluctantly headed to his real destination without alerting them, trying hard to erase the thoughts forming in his limited-capacity gray matter. He knew Kurusu juggled jobs in between heists; he said in passing that he wanted to buy something for himself and there’s no way he could spend heist money outside equipment and restoratives.

Speechless. He didn’t even know how to react to that.

Hours later, feeling oddly sated and satisfied from finishing three bowls of tonkotsu ramen and a few boxes of karaage, he went to Café Le Blanc’s second floor and entered the pad, handed a three-pack box of purin cups and saying ‘good work today’ to a half-naked Kurusu changing into his sweatshirt, the other commenting that he faintly smelled of cigarette smoke but not asking where he had been.

 

Glowing. Sakamoto found the leader glowing warmly in his vision, and later when he changed into his wifebeater and slumped on the lumpy excuse of a sofa-slash-Ryuji’s-bed, he thought that if Kurusu could manage to be magnetic with that physique and skin, maybe having a lean n’ green movement at their shared living quarters wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

A school trip to Hawaii was totally unexpected, much to his horror. Despite the perpetual sunshine and the tropical paradise setting that the beaches there offered, he couldn’t help but cringe on how it would literally burn a hole on his wallet. Living alone was a chore on its own, and even if he and Kurusu share expenses, still, it would be hard to not shell out cash on such a very far vacation place.

That led to the Joker sighing in resignation that he would allow spending a part of their heist funds for leisure. They worked too hard these days so money used for relaxation would be yen well spent. Cue in Okumura’s proactive offer to bring along the rest of the team studying outside Syujin High School, and it was safe to say that the Phantom Thieves of Hearts would be taking a short break – ‘villains’ needed a holiday too.

For some reason, his maiden flight didn’t make him feel nervous; instead he was excited to see the sea, the sand, the sun, and the girls.

He’s a teenage boy after all.

All that excitement went the otherwise; he never thought that plane rides could make him lethargic. With nothing else to do, he slapped on a weird eye mask (which apparently was Morgana) and tried to get some shuteye. Soon, he was in a dreamland that faintly smelled like Kurusu’s shower gel.

With the itinerary being done for the first day, which just was a run-through for what they would be doing in the next five days, the team decided to gather at the beach after half an hour. No one admitted to be excited, except probably himself (he was in his board shorts way before Kitagawa joined him) and Takamaki.

The Panther surely did know how to dress for the beach nicely, sporting a floral two-piece that left nothing and everything to imagination, causing the pretty Kitagawa to blush at the sight of her adjusting her bikini so it fit snugly against her skin. The chlorophyll revolution really did a wonderful change.

Wait.

So...Sakura had an inkling that this event would happen in the soonest possible future..?

Sakamoto took the last bite of his ice pop at the sheer horror of Necronomicon’s power and tried not to shudder by delving into way more complicated scenarios.

Akechi was busy doing some ‘detective work’ not far from the area, at which Okumura politely stated that he’s just checking out other girls, while Nijima arrived shortly with a girl whose head was covered in toilet paper tagging along behind her. Seriously, the blonde thought that it could be the dumbest thing that he had ever seen in his life, although her nice body might be her saving grace.

Sure, it was Sakura alright, and he must concede that she was stunning. Who knew their navigator could be such beauty. Her tiny smile just added a hint of moe factor, highly contrasting her sinister aura when boarding Necronomicon.

It was until a few minutes more when he saw someone that made him hold his breath, popsicle stick in his mouth rising before leaving his mouth agape.

It was only Kurusu, wearing a generic speedo that he might’ve purchased at the nearby swimsuit stores; no matter how great the Joker was in operation preparations, he was never good enough to pack things for himself – he even bugged Sakamoto which things he should actually bring for the next five days. It’s nigh obvious that he forgot to pack his swimwear.

Takamaki and Okumura huddled to him and started their chatter about how each one’s skin looked great and how fast the results of munching veggies brought. He was dumbfounded along with Kitagawa himself (Sakamoto wondered why) at the turnout of their rendezvous activity.

Unbeknowst to him, Sakura’s smile just became truer.

Soon after, Kurusu casually approached him and bent lower, much to the blonde’s surprise; the said action done in a different place might have a different context. Rising up and dusting off the grains of sand on his knee, the leader smirked and took his hand; placing on his palm the same popsicle stick that was in his mouth earlier.

That was the first time that he knew what followed next; a soft yet semi-harsh five-second lecture about not littering in public places. Kurusu emphasized on consequences of his actions which made even the cool and collected Kitagawa squint.

However, the spell was broken as soon as it was cast, and the Joker invoked his typical subtle persona and suggested they pick out a nice place near the water so they could splash anytime they wanted.

 

Confused. Sakamoto was downright confused for he knew that he had always liked girls. The Phantom Thieves of Hearts Otome Division aside, he should be having eyes on anyone that had the rack, the booty, and the face that could make a male’s blood going. Why did Kurusu trigger such an emotion? Pondering about that line of thought wasn’t the best of options, especially when he realized that they would share the same bed in the following nights, and a bit later when he accidentally found out that the Joker preferred to nuzzle the junction of his neck and shoulder as he lightly snored.

 

* * *

 

Sakamoto took a long drag of smoke from his almost dying cigarette, resting his back on the cold brick wall at the same alley he saw Kurusu taking trash out while donning an interesting outfit. Raising his head a tiny bit, he recalled what happened to be a somber night in the making with Kurusu explaining the details of what might be the final heist tomorrow evening, until he abruptly excused himself from the team’s meeting in order to have some alone time, giving his leader a look that silently said he might not come home for the evening.

…since when did he consider the cramped HQ a home?

The Casino loomed over the skyline, amidst the towering buildings and establishments in Tokyo. Discord permeated the former busy streets, its people having trouble distinguishing the virtual from the real. If only ‘stealing’ hearts was that easy, they wouldn’t be struggling like this. However, if not for the hardships that their operations brought, they wouldn’t be standing close to each other in one piece. They had come so far together; it would be a waste if they wouldn’t give it a shot.

Kurusu might’ve been the reserved, cultured, not-acting-on-impulse type of guy, but Sakamoto knew deep inside his leader was seething, angry, wanting to get the whole ordeal done and over with. The Joker has been tired of living such a dual life, and he was trying hard not to let it show – he’s not used to people worrying about him, remembering the time when he shrugged off the gunshot would that his own carelessness brought. Some, if not all, of their ragtag group of ‘thieves’ believed that they just have to trust Kurusu’s vision and do whatever they could in order to stop what started as a mere charade and morphed into a painful, horrific reality.

True, they had their hearts that could trigger change; they themselves had noticed changes in their outlook and reasons for existing. The potential called a Persona was not a mere tool; it was a catalyst for transformation as it embodied one’s ideals, acting as a mask to face any tribulation its user had in front of him, and as a sanctuary to shield its user from any harm.

Sakamoto refused to believe that entirely.

Kurusu was a Fool.

He had donned so many masks in their journey; those countless façades that were him and not him at the same time. Carrying the burden of Tokyo, or perhaps the whole world, should not be residing on just a single person’s shoulder. Sakamoto somewhat understood where his leader was coming from; trying hard to fit in, complying to set rules, questioning the authorities’ morality or the lack thereof, swimming in the gray area between what’s right and wrong… For a single person, this might be too hard to bear. To have multiple Personas meant that Kurusu would have a Swiss knife of sorts, one that can be used in any situation and end up doing things successfully one way or another.

That was not the case, or so Sakamoto thought.

Kurusu was a fool to rely on just himself too much. Everyone knew he trusts them as members of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, yet Kurusu was firm at his decision that if something bad happens, he would be the one handling it.

How idiotically heroic, he thought, chuckling slightly at the words that came from the so-called carnal idiot monkey like himself.

He’s definitely not buying it.

Multiple Personas or not, he won’t give up Kurusu without dying first. Hell, he owed him his life months back; it was only polite to return the favor.

That was the first time he sorted out what he felt since day one; he worked hard all this time for Kurusu to acknowledge him as Skull, the Joker’s ever trusty right-hand man. He got the recognition and he’s beaming at his title, but he realized a shiny name just wasn’t enough. Everything fell into place one puzzle piece at a time as his eyes narrowed at the tiny ember nearly scorching the filter of his cancer stick. The final vitriolic drag didn’t faze him when it almost burnt his fingers and lips. Aiming to flick the remains on the dirty pavement, Sakamoto froze, remembering that he should not litter in public places. Subdued yet a little optimistic, he snuffed the cigarette stump at the sole of his sneakers and dropped the tiny bit of trash to a bin along his way to Café Le Blanc. He didn’t know how long he was out but that didn’t matter.

He felt the need to go home.

 

Confident. There were a lot of things to say, but he’s confident enough that he wouldn’t even need to speak.

* * *

 

The café’s bell jingled slightly, announcing his arrival to Sakura-san who sent him a knowing gaze and a resigned smile, gesturing him to go upstairs. The small trip was uneventful and as soon as he reached his and Kurusu’s shared space, Morgana was already in front of him, sitting like a trained cat, staring at him straight in the eye. No words were exchanged and Morgana averted his gaze and headed downstairs without a sound.

Sakamoto closed his eyes, took a deep breath and headed straight to the fridge, itching to grab a kiwi jelly drink when he noticed the prone form (Sakamoto cringed at how painful his neck would be when he woke up) of Kurusu snoozing on his bumpy lumpy sofa bed, dressed in a wifebeater two sizes larger than what should fit his slim torso, and beside him a plain corrugated cardboard box with crumpled paper cushioning a ZOMG! wristwatch and a blank birthday card in it. Sakamoto shook his head with a lopsided grin; the oblivious leader still had his faux-prescription glasses on, which could cause pretty nasty results once he managed to break them in his sleep. Laughing inwardly, he thought that if Kurusu wanted to let everyone accept his true self, then he should start dropping the façade little by little, starting with the glasses. However, he secretly wished that he wouldn't drop the megane-kun feature for reasons he couldn't fathom.

That was the first time he would voluntarily share his bed with someone else. He felt a tinge of regret for not realizing it sooner yet it’s no use crying over spilled milk. Casually pulling off his jacket and dropping it at the backrest (or headboard since it’s technically a bed now), he sat unceremoniously on the remaining space of the slightly uncomfortable makeshift sleeping implement, set the still unwrapped gift on the coffee table and swiftly yet gently snatched the glasses framing the sleeping one's face. His leader inhaled deeply as he was stirred away from the dream world; from the unannounced cushion dive-bombing and/or the stench of cigarette smoke, the blonde wouldn’t know.

A raspy-voiced, croaking Akira, er...Kurusu was something he could get used to.

 

Tolerable. Sakamoto scaled a bit on the obnoxious side, yet Kurusu had always considered him a tolerable exception. Joker guessed that the gamble of showing bits of his true self when Skull was around seemed to earn him more chips to continue his, no, _their_ fight now to end this damn game. Who knew; tomorrow night might be the last time they'll hold onto their aliases and be free from it once and for all? And probably - just probably, the Joker could steal the Skull's heart, for his had been stolen unwittingly by his self-proclaimed right-hand man.

 

 

“…Sakamoto?”

A rather painful flick at the forehead and a soft sigh whispered a ton of unspoken words and unvoiced wishes of good fortune in between.

“It’s Ryuji.”


	2. Optima Change: Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can never have too much healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi… *yawn* I had too much coffee but I’m still sleepy as frack. Excessive working has its downsides too – especially when you try to fit your incessant gaming schedule in your already cramped timetable.
> 
> Wait, timetable? Do I even have that?
> 
> Anyway, the game and official manga has been out recently so changes must be made.  
> And there should be something to commemorate it, no? Yay for rare editing time and churning up a new chapter time.
> 
> No skillseed farming, event token hunting, magicite harvesting, hourglass collecting, and Mantide massacre today…probably.
> 
> I don’t own anything from Atlus, SEGA, the Persona series and other allusions that came from the minds of those lovely game devs. If I did, then there would be a huge patch so Kurusu could choose the fabulous ho yay route and give birth to an obligatory White Day scene, a fighting game, an updated release, and an even more updated re-release.

“Oi, stupid! Quit the hero crap, will you?”

Mona’s appalled at the seemingly suicidal streak Skull exhibited while traversing Kamoshida’s Palace, taunting every Demon present on the floor, hitting the opposition with Captain Kidd’s unusually badass ship-con-surfboard. Though not really effective in causing the enemies to flinch, the sheer aggression factor it displayed created a diversion enough for Joker and the housecat to blast through in a Ma-type spell barrage.

“You gather _too much_ attention,” Joker sighed beneath his breath, yet a small smirk whispered a tiny bit of appreciation; they were saving SP that way. The cat prepared to quip another witty remark but the heist leader beat him to it.

“But I like it. Good job.”

Skull flashed his trademark victory pose, swinging the heavy elbow pipe in a huge arc to rid it of Demon bloody/sludge and resting it on his shoulder. “Hah, nothing gets past me, got that memorized?”

“Ugh, first, you’re not a redhead. Second, this is not a roleplaying game. Finally, Axel uses chakrams and you play video games as if there’s no tomorrow. No wonder you’re flunking,” Mona lectured, setting his stubby hands on his almost non-existent waist in an attempt to appear demanding.

It’s not very effective.

“I agree,” Joker seconded, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Hey! At least I try!” Skull retorted, hunching a bit, the act marring his almost decent rendition of an after-battle winning moment. “And Joker, you don’t have to rub it in… It hurts sometimes, you know?”

Soon after, three consecutive rounds of Dia hit the blonde, peppering the air with a slight minty scent and Pixie’s cutesy giggling.

“What was that for?” the newest Persona user queried, eyebrows rising in confusion. He was still doing great; there was absolutely no reason to heal up.

The Joker reflected the same muddled expression, “I apologize if I hurt your feelings. Those should help.”

Well, it actually didn’t help; the housecat tried hard to suppress a full-blown cackle, his eyes tearing up.

Skull fumed in annoyance, albeit short-lived. Tanking and handling enemy aggression could overwhelm a character in a split-second; there’s no point in assuming the best case scenario. Better safe than dead.

“Whatever floats your boat then,” the brash teen shrugged the issue entirely, sporting a confident grin. “Let’s go. Takamaki needs help.”

“After you, hero,” Joker said like a gentleman would, earning a pumped-up ‘Yosh!’ from the ever-excited phantom thief as he dashed to the next door.

“There must be a reason for that, right Joker?” Mona sagely remarked, eyes squinting in careful observation.

“Sorry, but I have no idea what you are talking about…” he weakly responded, as if he were grasping straws to come up with a solution to a problem Mona couldn’t identify.

The Magician dropped the issue entirely and unsheathed his toy sword in preparation, trailing behind Joker who followed the blonde in haste.

“Time can only tell when the cat will be out of the bag.”

 

No pun intended.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, this is exquisite!” Takamaki exclaimed, carefully sipping the hot drink in order not to disturb the sloppily crafted puppy head made of coffee foam. “What’s in it?”

“Somebody asked for a strong cup, no sugar, with a touch of dairy, and I ended up spilling almost half a cup of milk to it so I tried to salvage the order by adding more drip coffee, a few dashes of amaretto, and some milk foam,” Kurusu twirled a few stray locks framing his face in embarrassment. “Ended up with a mug of failed concoction but they liked it, surprisingly.”

“Kinda strong for my taste, but it’s rounded out nicely,” the girl noted, licking the foam off the stirring stick and munching off a small bit of oatmeal cookie that came with her drink.

“Just added a bit of sugar and a little vanilla. I don’t know how you like your coffee, to be honest,” the novice barista scratched his head, obviously failing to look confident, his unease screaming ‘Your (hopefully) kind feedback is highly appreciated for I’m a total noob in the coffee-making industry, Customer-san.’

Takamaki chuckled at her leader’s total-180 turn from being a dependable heist companion to a perplexed barista-in-training. “Poor Hachiko rendition aside, this is a potent mix, yet subdued enough to fit my liking. If it were the original one, it’d probably be a mature taste,” she explained, closing her eyes as she took another sip of her hand-crafted drink.

Bells chimed, announcing the entrance of another customer who promptly sat beside the girl in her pristine hoodie.

“Welcome to Café Le Blanc, valued customer, even if the sign outside says ‘Closed’.”

The Lovers’ temple throbbed at the customer’s apparent disrespect for personal space and lack of reading capability. Who invited themselves to a café that was literally closed for the day without any qualms, not to mention sitting beside _her_ at the counter with all the available space in the small coffee joint?

“Whoa, that’s new,” the customer’s familiar voice mentioned, sounding a bit tired yet cheerful. “The usual.”

A small sigh.

“You do understand that this is charged against my weekly allowance or Sakura-san will chew my ear off,” Kurusu deadpanned but he still moved to oblige the said customer.

“Got paid today, so that and Takamaki’s drink are on me.”

She could recognize that annoying voice anywhere.

“Sakamoto?!” She never hid her surprise when she saw the same obnoxious (though she wouldn’t admit that it was tolerable) guy who ran with them during heists and what-not. “Why are you here?” she queried, eyes widening like small cup coasters.

“Haaa? Of course,” the faux blonde retorted matter-of-factly, as if Sakamoto being there was the one of the absolute truths in the world – like how roses are red and violets are blue. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Takamaki replied flatly. She was so sure that she was the only one invited to have a peaceful cup and a nice chat with Joker’s civilian form. Perhaps the talk about Shiho could wait for another time.

“We’re roomies.”

“What? You live here?”

“Well, yes?” Sakamoto answered, puzzled look adorning his features, eyes switching from the Kurusu and his day’s guinea pig. “Is that a problem?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

She had a gut feeling that she actually didn’t.

All the more when she followed Kurusu’s actions, painstakingly crafting Sakamoto’s coffee the very same fashion her drink was made (including the laughable attempt on recreating Hachiko), minus a few details; no vanilla, and the novice aimed to dunk a sugar cube in his aluminum mixing cup, only to hold back and refrain from doing so, placing the lid back on the jar.

A few seconds later and Kurusu set the steaming cup in front of her teammate.

“Please enjoy.”

“Geez, no need to sound formal. It’s just me here, and ugh, Takamaki too, though I’m kind of a paying customer now, but that’s not the point,” the Chariot corrected, letting the mug sit for a short while, staring at the beady eyes of Hachiko before destroying the whole masterpiece with a teaspoon and shoving the lump of foam in his mouth, then taking a calm sip and heaving a relaxed sigh.

“This Potion is amazing as always.”

“Tch. Despite the fact that the word is public property, naming it with a video game restorative just sounds lame.”

A week later, Takamaki sat on the same spot, pretending to think of what to order for the afternoon.

“A Lover’s _Potion_ would be lovely today, Kurusu-kun.”

 

It took three and a quarter seconds for the barista to process what she meant.

 

* * *

 

“Seriously, whatever happened to the ‘conserving resources’ scheme if Joker kept on spamming Diarama?” Fox queried, earning facepalms from Panther and Mona.

“We tried to tell him that but he simply won’t listen,” the housecat grumbled, pouring out his slightly growing frustration by flinging Garu, finding an opening to trigger a ‘Hold Up!’ sequence. Being the most potent healer of the team now, he’s just bound to use Media and Medirama when _absolutely_ required – meaning when they’re _kinda_ almost dying. Mona’s a stickler to Joker’s orders.

He had every reason to sulk when the head of the Phantom Thieves (of Hearts, which Joker _drilled_ into them; they were no ordinary cat burglars) spammed single-target healing spells on Skull every time he got hit, even if the said target didn’t even have a scratch.

Panther cracked her whip and smacked a Demon to submission. “Beats me. He’s like that since I joined so I believe it’s a Sakamoto complex? Joker seems to have a soft spot for Skull, and for Kami-sama’s sake, we have no clue on why he does that. Although it appears that he’s wasting energy, he’s a medicine kit that had grown two legs so we never run out of restoratives – sketchy pills and sorts that at first, I thought he’s drugging us or something, but hey, we’re doing just fine so that’s all that matters, I suppose? He can get pretty stingy when we ourselves run out of juice, yet with his stash, he’s an endless font of SP.”

“I just don’t understand the ‘stingy’ part,” the kitsune pondered, zooming across the kaleidoscope Palace of Madarame. He led the team’s navigation this time; he had the map, and for some reason, the labyrinth was coincidentally and horribly familiar.

Fox noticed that some members were way behind him, Joker rummaging his seemingly bottomless carrier and pulling out a blister set of tablets and a juice pouch and handing the recovery stuff to a slightly panting, ever ungraceful Skull. He swore he could never fathom how that small pack could hold a plethora of stuff that in the real world, it just wouldn’t fit.

“Time out for now. Skull’s taking a breather. Might as well let them catch up,” he announced, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall near an elevator. It must’ve been a good thing they cleared the area of Demons or they’ll definitely have a hard time backtracking – that’s what the exploration phase was all about.

Moments after, the team gathered into a tight bunch again, Skull apologizing for having dizziness episodes – this Palace could be tough on the eyes of people not used to insane color combinations that only artists could appreciate.

“That’s alright. Let’s continue, shall we?”

The raid was pretty much uneventful, save for a few Demon encounters after picking locks of treasure boxes, until Mona tripped the alarm, floodlights focusing on him while he flailed his arms, whisper-screaming ‘What did I do?’.

…they forgot to deactivate a security camera.

“Shit,” Joker hissed, distress marring his usual confident air. “Abort exploration _now_. Everyone, please focus on following the nearest route to the fucking exit,” he commanded, sending a nod at Fox, silently giving him the authority to lead the way – if they evade or exterminate the reinforcements that would be swarming them soon.

“Rushing through!” Skull roared all of a sudden, ramming the contorted security guards left and right, clearing a path for them to proceed safely, or whatever definition of ‘safe’ was applicable to the scenario they were in. Fox admired the faux blondee’s spontaneity, yet he figured that there must be something wrong with the said teen.

Then it clicked.

As he was spearheading the escape act, taking a short glance behind led him to connect the reason for the leader’s knack of overhealing the young man who was generally attached to his hip. Closing his eyes to not see the imperfectly perfect scene of the leader at the very tail (and casting _Diarahan_ , of all spells, on the Chariot every ten seconds or so; Sukukaja might have been more helpful) of their last-minute train to temporary reprieve, he swung his blade at the now-rising security guards along with Mona and Panther, knocking them out and taking full advantage of Skull’s crude yet effective first strike.

 

He’s not that close to Joker yet, and Fox felt that he wasn’t in the right position to ask the leader what he had in mind.

 

* * *

 

“Amazing! But heck, I would love to kick your ass for being too rash. Tactics should be followed diligently or you’ll end up having more than just a scratch,” Queen roared, lecturing Skull on the intricacies of battle strategy, though she thought that it might be driving a nail through a carbide steel cranium.

Joker almost laughed despite the predicament they were in, taking note of Togo-san’s trick to appraise the success rates of actions inside and outside battle.

Skull’s exhibition scored at a near perfect 98 percent, until the tell-tale laser scope got into his view. Good thing he taught the Priestess on alternative ways to see the battlefield, but considering her as the brawler type, her windup could be slow which could lead to rather fatal results.

Queen had never been more distraught until she finally took notice of the approaching final tick of a team member’s doom clock.

Sakamoto Ryuji would be mourned give or take five seconds.

Shuffling the caster deck he assembled for today’s training menu, Joker quickly conjured Sukukaja and darted towards the still oblivious Skull, shoving him away from the sniper’s trajectory, Freila disintegrating the robot into Demon dust.

All was well…until the soft sound of blood dripping on the cold floor mixed with the white noise of centralized air conditioning, and its metallic scent littered the stale, almost sterile air of the accursed Palace.

The event dazed the team for a good heartbeat, making Skull scamper to the leader’s location, cradling Joker’s head on his lap, staining his bright yellow glove with screaming red when he put pressure on the bullet’s entry point, the stark contrast further instilling dread to other members of the Phantom Thieves.

Panther was the second one to recover. “Joker! Wait! You’ll be okay! I got this, I got this…” she fumbled, hastily trying to rip off her mask and evoke Carmen, only to fail miserably; her hands were shaking erratically. She couldn’t find the strength to cast even the measly healing spells that she knew on the first day she joined.

“C’mon Panther, Mona! Do something, _anything_!” Fox screeched, feeling helpless for he knew even the most potent of medicines were no match to a deep gash. Along the same line of reason, gunshot wounds were one of the things they were oh-so-carefully trying to avoid for quite a while now, with their leader emphasizing the point _every single time_.

What an irony.

Whispered murmurs of Personas and decks littered Skull’s semi-monologue, earning a few words from the still out-of-it Joker; cuts and scrapes were easy to deal with, being shot was a totally different dungeon run altogether.

“Back off,” the Chariot warned with a deep tone highly unlike his usual bright, cheerful demeanor.

Failing to understand such hostility, Queen calmly paced towards the two despite her already short-circuiting mind. “Skull, Joker requires immediate medical attention. It’s best to – ”

“Which part of ‘back off’ can’t you understand?” he said in the same manner, an air of finality lacing his simple words.

Mona evoked Zorro and almost sent a Diarama flying, but the newest member of the team raised her arm, silently insisting to leave the two alone. Fox and Panther conceded, though in their minds, they couldn’t accept the fact that they were forbidden to act when they could actually _do_ something.

To their surprise, Joker handed his combat knife to the bruiser and without notice, Skull literally _dug_ the bullet out just below the leader’s collarbone without flinching; what he lacked in surgical precision was covered by his rudimentary yet effective approach.

“You just don’t do that, Sakamoto!” Panther wailed, stomping forward, aiming to smack some sense into the blondee. Emergency surgery did not comprise of a throat-slitting knife and untrained hands in her book. Just before she reached the two, Skull’s blood trickled down his chin, tainting Joker’s ashen face with dark red rivulets as Captain Kidd hovered above them, sending a Zio to gravely wounded young man.

Instead of rambling like the usual, Mona decided to stay silent.

“You idiot, Sakamoto! You’re not helping _at all_!”

Judging it was time to defuse the ticking bomb, Queen summoned Johanna and settled herself in front of the remaining members, forcing them to stay put and appraise the situation carefully as Captain Kidd struck their leader with round after round of lightning bolts.

“Let Sakamoto redeem his pride.”

She’s the Tactician; even the tiniest of details would not escape her cogs of wisdom. There would be enough time to discuss the dire event later; much later after Kurusu’s and Sakamoto’s three-day absence and the team noticing the latter’s toned-down attitude and dark eye rings the following week when the two decided that school life had to go on.

 

A customized Shiki-ouji with Absorb Electricity blew her mind; she was totally _not_ expecting that.

 

* * *

 

“I’m back,” Sakamoto said to no one in particular. Kurusu might still be…um, working.

Having a roommate (or crash-diving into someone’s pad then suddenly finalizing that you’ll be moving in after leaving a bunch of clothes and personal stuff after a week’s worth of sleepovers and not accepting ‘no’ for an answer) made it a habit to announce his arrival no matter how early or late he was.

_“I’m having…issues. So I’ll be moving in tomorrow. Sakura-san agreed too.”_

_“…you practically live here; what’s the difference?”_

“Sakamoto. Welcome back.”

He wasn’t actually expecting an answer. Odd. Kurusu must be a magical soldier who could change into dainty maid clothes with a flick of a finger. Well, that’s what mahou shojou characters do for a living – setting a wildfire made of fanservice (of all kinds, decent and indecent) and raking cash like leaves in autumn.

Kurusu just added lighter fuel to that lone, tiny ember.

Sakamoto witnessed one of the major selling points of magical girls: the signature transformation scene.

No cheesy upbeat music, no majestic orchestrations, no angelic chorus.

It’s just Kurusu, his stupid glasses which was probably used only to invoke the mysterious megane-kun persona, his lean, a bit sinewy figure that hides a silent strength to send the toughest of Demons shivering, his slightly rough skin that was a tad sensitive by his lower back and chest area which he knew upon patching him up that fated night, and of course, his perpetually scruffy nest of black locks. The play of city lights filtering through the window and the regular early evening noise on the busy streets provided the necessary background to warrant this picture as genuine mahou shoujo material.

At least in Sakamoto’s eyes.

“Thought you’d be back later.”

“Clocked out early. Business was so slow,” the leader’s gentle voice stated, the very sentence muffled with fumbling to stick his head out of the baggy sweatshirt. The other’s fist collided with the Wild Card’s chest, a soft crinkling sound accompanying it. He sniffed and raised an eyebrow at the familiar scent of tobacco smoke emanating from the blonde.

“You smell like an ashtray,” he remarked, though his attention was diverted to the plastic bag offered to him. For some reason, Sakamoto seemed pretty generous tonight.

“…purin?”

“Well, duh?” Sakamoto explained, as if it was the most precise answer that he could muster. “Good work today.”

“I really can’t say that I worked a lot. More like just taking the trash out and that’s it.”

The blonde stared at the shorter one’s face and shook his head abruptly before turning away, stripping his uniform off and leaving just his boxers on, pacing towards their shared dresser soon after and pulling a black wifebeater, his typical sleeping/slacking/lazing-around-at-the-pad attire. One tug of the sofa cushion and voila! It’s a bed not-so-good for sleeping now.

Sakamoto Ryuji dozed off on a Transformers-worthy couch. Or not.

“That sucks,” the Chariot commented, splaying at the center of the mattress, his arms behind his head, eyes focusing on the tattered ceiling.

“It does. I’m planning to earn quite a bit extra, but that went down the drain rather quickly,” Kurusu sighed, plopping himself at the other side of the bed/not-bed, leaning his back on the backrest-turned-headboard. “I need money,” he mumbled, mouth full of creamy, jiggly caramel custard.

“We all do,” Sakamoto stated matter-of-factly, turning his body so he lied on his side. “And Kurusu, you’re welcome to use your couch but I’m in dire need of sleep and I don’t know if I’d love to burn the makings of your butt on my retinas until I have my trip to dreamland.”

“You have no idea,” the other chided, shrugging it off as a typical Sakamoto quirk. He stood and placed the remaining two packs of purin in the mini-fridge on the other side of the room. “Well, good night then. And please don’t mind the noise I might make; you know, weapon maintenance.”

“Nah, I don’t. If you just chose to wield bludgeons, you won’t be doing any honing and sorts.”

“Unfashionable.”

“You trying to pick a fight with me?” Sakamoto mock challenged, sounding a bit amused. Gears shifted quickly though. “Oh, that might not be possible. With your scrawny arms, I’m sure they’ll get you before you can even swing the thing.”

Kurusu glared at the snickering teen. “That’s highly expected. This guy is seriously deprived of protein thanks to someone who inhales a ton of meat weekly so this poor guy only munches green stuff the girls are crazy about,” he grumbled, yet lacking the venom he reserved for their targets. “You know what? I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”

 

Deep down, the Joker couldn’t possibly forget that, the borderline irritating snoring of his roommate further driving the point home.

 

* * *

 

“Littering is a punishable crime.”

Kitagawa forgot about the whole innuendo-laden gesture of their leader kneeling too closely at a dumbstruck Sakamoto, gulping at the chilling tone Kurusu sported when delivering his signature one-liners, squinting a bit at the slight implications of the statement. Thinking about Sakamoto’s ‘eye of the storm’ outburst in their earlier days made a lot more sense, though he still didn’t have the guts to call the Joker out on it anytime soon.

“Ahaha. Right. I’ll be careful next time,” the faux blonde replied in his own version of an apology; he was never the one to say ‘sorry’ often, believing that atonement required actions, not words.

“Good! Now let’s pick a spot and enjoy ourselves, shall we?”

The artist heeded the leader’s advice and followed him along with the girls in tow, and remarkably enough, even Mishima tagged along too. Seriously, Kurusu was a very oblivious Casanova.

Even the guys wanted him.

Probably.

“Boo.”

“Sakura! Geez, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Sakamoto jumped, glancing behind him to see the token mini-moe of the Phantom Thieves. “Don’t do that again, will you?”

“I will, promise,” the freshman replied shyly (or not), her gaze set on the rest of the troupe currently scouting for a nice place to set an umbrella.

“And why are you still here, anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she smiled subtly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “He’s really easy on the eyes, no?”

Puzzled, Sakamoto canted his head to the side, no idea what the now-resident navigator meant.

“Say what now?”

Sakura crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her left leg. “Kurusu-senpai,” she said casually, making it sound as mundane as the weather, or cats lounging on top of a concrete wall. “He just has this sort of gravity that pulls you in hook, line, and sinker. Being on the sidelines, I couldn’t help but notice.”

The blonde’s jaw slacked after a few seconds of thought processing.

“You, er, like Kurusu? Uh… Wait, wait, wait. If you’re planning to confess, shouldn’t you be telling him instead of me?” he almost screamed, arms flailing wildly. Hearing confessions, whether you’re the intended recipient or not, could be highly awkward or embarrassing at times.

“Yup! I do!” she said softly, faint smile brightening up her face. “Kurusu-senpai’s dashing, like a dark knight, though I may say that he’s more of a red mage now more than anything else,” Sakura quipped, laughing a bit when Kurusu decided to poke the poor artist with the end of the umbrella. “Lemme see… He’s proficient at spellcasting, dedicated, loyal, not to mention _extremely_ gorgeous. Don’t you think so too, Sakamoto-senpai?”

The blonde hummed, mulling over the facts the cute navigator stated, tapping his chin with the popsicle stick he was destined to be with after Kurusu literally warned him of his non-environment friendly behavior. “I kinda agree and can somewhat understand where you’re coming from, but to be honest, I don’t actually see the point of this conversation.”

“Then it’s all good! No need for me to do the extra work,” she giggled and skipped to where Akechi was, probably setting another ‘antagonize the playboy’ skit. Sakura, despite her cute and charming features, could be highly unsettling due to her roots as a professional hacker – for all they knew, she might have several blackmail cards ready to play anytime. Necronomicon was the epitome of Sakura’s _extensive_ prowess over info gathering and, probably, even manipulation, the ancient library books said that her Persona’s a freaking tome about insane occult and otherworldly stuff. Dealing with her sometimes felt like digging your own grave.

“Geez, if she just manned up and screamed ‘Kurusu-senpai, I like you very, very, very much so please go out with me!’, it would be a quick ‘case closed’ scenario,” Sakamoto groaned, muttering the confession line in a faux-girly tone.

Of course he liked Kurusu. That’s a given. Sakura’s musings aside, he asked himself the very same question: _who doesn’t?_

Sure, he’s not so hot due to his shady transfer, but still, he’s a pretty good guy to begin with, not counting the slasher smiles he sent to their heist objectives. His sweet-talking was another issue. The guy had a golden tongue and could literally talk his way out of a sticky situation if he wanted to. The whole Maiden Division was practically _fawning_ over him for quite a while (he’s not totally blind), though they seemed pretty mellow these days, but still. Somehow, that just left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oi, Sakamoto, you’ll get a sunburn if you don’t get here any minute now,” Kurusu shouted, waving his arm to have his attention.

“Easy on the eyes, huh?”

He had to admit that it’s true. Sakura’s the genius. Perhaps he’d treat her some burgers when they return to Japan – well, after he receives his paycheck, that is.

For now, he stopped the train of thought after reaching that conclusion. Baby steps first.

Later though, it was an absolute train wreck; he actually forgot that they would bunk together for the rest of the trip, and no one told him about at a cuddle-hungry Kurusu, who would have two nights of back-to-back ‘I’m a vampire and your seems delicious’ dreams and unconsciously attacked the junction between his shoulder and neck – soft bites, near-silent snores, drool and all.

Shivering slightly at the same thought as they traveled to the airport on day three, his road nap sent him back to Kurusu’s after-shower scented world, and admitted helplessly that _kinda_ liked it.

 

He then noticed after their return plane landed that the popsicle stick he kept that day blatantly screamed ‘Winner!’.

 

* * *

 

“Did you guys miss me?”

A life lesson Sakamoto learned the hard way: never make the girls cry.

He was just trying to get back on Kurusu for his nightmare-inducing ‘pseudo-murder-turned-suicide’ back at the precinct. He’s the resident bruiser and Joker’s right-hand man (he assumed, everyone just agreed), of course he’d be in charge of escorting the real (and very much alive) Kurusu Akira to the getaway vehicle Nijima was manning at a semi-secluded area in the building’s parking space.

The awfully realistic blood splatter and his wide-eyed expression haunted him for nights to end, and Sakamoto was the only one suffering from it; he didn’t sign up for a cold, still corpse of his best friend staring blankly at the door, silent pleas unheard indefinitely.

It hurt a lot, even if he _knew_ that it was just a dummy, a mere clone by Arsene’s mystical intervention.

Even if it was actually _planned_ to happen.

Needless to say, Skull’s ‘demise’ at Shidou’s Palace was supposed to be a prank; a taste of Joker’s own medicine, if you may.

The only problem?

It went _too perfectly_.

“You’re the worst, Sakamoto! I can’t believe you made us go through _that_! We thought you actually died! We looked for you everywhere and you’ve been missing for…ugh! I hate you so much right now!” Navi wailed, hiccupping from bawling her eyes out hours ago. Skull’s prowess was tanking blows, but the weaker-than-a-fly’s punches he received were kind of heartbreaking.

“It’s a joke in bad taste,” Noir stated, voice trembling a bit. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “ten thousand deaths are not enough for you, but still, I’d rather see you breathing.” With that, she pouted tearfully and went on a firearm salvo to clear the crowd of Demons approaching from the east, Milady’s almost constant materialization reminded everyone that she’s currently in a _very_ bad mood, sending a round of Psyo to the offending Skull for a good dose of not-so-friendly fire.

Since he was a bit confused, it packed quite a punch.

Panther took the more physical route, a flat-out contrast to her caster nature, and chucked an angry fist straight into Skull’s, well, skull. He swore he would feel that for days to come – if the world won’t be ending soon.

Queen, surprisingly, had a solemn look on her face, tell-tale signs of combined relief and disappointment shrouding her no-nonsense demeanor. “I hope that you’ve had fun with that stint of yours. A critical hit on your ‘nads feels sublime to be honest, but I fear that being unable to father babies in the future would be too sad,” she sniffled and made a poor rendition of her signature death glare, causing her to drop the said act in favor of gritting her teeth and sighing to prevent releasing the safety lock of her trickling floodgates that were raging for a while until he appeared. “You could’ve shattered someone else’s world in case that happened, so I suggest a damage control course is in order to prevent the same thing from happening.”  
  
With a pause, Skull paled literally as she still proceeded with the groin attack, launching Skull several meters away, his back hitting an electric pole with a crunch.

“And I take it back; you probably won’t have to make babies anyway,” she concluded, taking a sideway glance at the another member approaching before revving up Johanna and fleeing the scene in a mad dash akin to a drunk driver mowing a crowded, pedestrian-only street.

He could tell that he pissed them off big time, but he’s never going to say sorry; that’s not how he worked. All he needed to do was to protect them better this time.

Pains from crushing the family jewels subsided a bit, he stood as his vision cleared up, seeing Fox shaking his head but flashing a relieved grin, while Mona sent him a blank stare but nodded in acknowledgement before scurrying off and healing whoever needed it. No problems with icy executions and wind-induced paper cuts anytime soon.

However, hell hath no fury like a Joker scorned.

The leader’s heavy footsteps clacked like a ticking bomb waiting to explode in horrifying proportions. A growl bellowed from the depths of Joker’s throat as he rained multiple Diarahans on Skull’s towering (for once not slouching like he used to) figure which was more than enough to repair the gashes he sustained from the escape act, switching from Persona to Persona to yet another Persona.

He should’ve felt revitalized, but his gut told him a different story.

Left fist trembling in an attempt not to destroy anything, Joker yanked down the blonde’s red necktie with an iron grip, Skull’s forehead almost bumping due to their few centimeters height difference.

“I’m sorry for doing that to you at the police station, but please, _don’t you fucking dare die on me_ , understood?” he harshly whispered, his warm breath laced with kiwi jelly drink fanning his face. As soon as it happened, Joker let go of the blonde with a grunt and gracefully walked a few meters away from him, rubbing the right side of his face against the sleeve of the tailored suit Arsene’s awakening provided back from when it was just the two of them.

“Did I just…”

Sakamoto Ryuji, also known as Skull, couldn’t finish the sentence without feeling downright horrible.

Joker had so much pride; not even Skull himself was allowed to see him shed a tear.

Out of all the members of their ragtag group of thieves, his ‘death’ affected the calm, collected, seldom snarky, ever-mighty Joker the most.

A swish of silky, jet-black coat and the founder – the mastermind of the whole heist planning they had for almost a year, declares that they were ready to steal hearts once more.

After all, the brain easily succumbs to its death without a Skull protecting it.

Business as usual.

“It’s nice to have you back, Skull.”

Anger, concern, worry, relief, astonishment…

What else could be seen on Kurusu’s eyes if he just probed a little deeper?

Another life lesson Sakamoto learned the hard way:

 

Never make the Joker cry.

 

* * *

 

Sakamoto hated meetings. His attention span ranked the lowest among the Phantom Thieves, which was pretty much a dead giveaway.

Hearing the proud, lofty ideals of Kurusu almost made him puke; the majority of the team’s affirmation wasn’t helping either. Akechi perished in the Cruise Ship, and despite his twisted view about the current situation, he was still a part of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts; his change of heart alone made it hard to accept that he’ll be gone for a long, long time.

What’s the point of doing the difficult stuff alone? Kurusu wasn’t a superhero; he’s just a normal teen like him, the only difference was the power of the Persona.

They’re best friends, more than brothers, more than comrades even.

Did Kurusu ever trust him at all?

It was certainly a bitter pill to swallow, much to the blonde’s chagrin.

“Tch. This is boring. I’m going out for a bit,” he interrupted, earning a pregnant silence from the rest of the Phantom Thieves – Morgana’s lack of something witty to say further irritated him; on a normal day, he’s the one shooting sarcasm bullets with extreme precision. Apparently, he ran out of ammunition this time.

“No objections? Good.” He jumped off the banister of the stairs where he sat grumpily during the course of the meeting and grabbed his blazer from the hook beside his roomie’s uniform. “Kurusu, I probably stay out late so lock up when you’re done. See you guys.”

Snatching his wallet on the counter near Morgana’s naptime corner, he was about to head downstairs when Kurusu roused his attention.

“Sakamoto.”

The leader flung a set of keys which the blonde deftly caught; he often forgets to bring those when he goes out, one instance lead to a cold due to sleeping at the table outside the café.

“Thanks.”

Once the faint jingling of bells marked the blonde’s departure, Nijima placed a hand on her elbow, setting an uncertain glance at Kurusu.

“This is what you wanted after all?”

The de facto leader of the Phantom Thieves nodded with conviction. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“But Kurusu,” Kitagawa interjected, worry etching his pristine face, “chasing Sakamoto out was a bit harsh. He might take it seriously.”

“When have I been not serious?” Kurusu raised an eyebrow.

Sakura spun herself on the leader’s recent splurge, a cheap revolving plush chair from the second-hand store, and pulled a strawberry lollipop out of her mouth. “I dunno. You’re always on trolling mode?”

“Especially when you rain recovery spells on him even if he’s on tip-top shape,” Okumura noted, nodding sagely at her own observations. “He’s fit as a mule, so I was wondering all this time what reason might cause Kurusu-kun to go trigger happy with Dia-type skills.”

Takamaki, Morgana and Kitagawa exchanged knowing looks, and to Nijima, it was like they’re telepathically confirming something. Judging by the almost unnoticeable squirming of the party in question, she concluded that Kurusu would be the storyteller in due time.

“Well, we’re not here to talk about Kurusu’s obvious Sakamoto complex – ”

“That’s preposterous.”

“What else would we call it then, Kurusu? Mother Hen Mode, How To Ride Your Chariot 101, Sakamoto Tetraja In The Real World Fo’ Realz, Let’s-Spend-All-SP-On-Skull Tactic… Oh, care to help me run through the other outlandish schemata, Haru?”

Kurusu pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the incoming headache from manifesting. “You have a lot of free time, Nijima-senpai.”

“It’s called working efficiently,” the senior said regally, echoing her tone back at the student council room. “But I digress. Bottom line, we’re all chained to this mess. It’s our mission to end this, or else Tokyo is good as hell. It’s not only you who’s fighting. Everyone in the HQ, and even our allies are fighting their own battles to escape this radically unimaginable state. One way or another, we brought this scenario on ourselves. Isn’t it about time we level up and become responsible enough to clean our own mess?”

Okumura giggled and opened a bag of potato chips she pilfered somewhere in the pad. “Such flair for the theatrics, Makoto. All she’s saying is that no one’s backing down, for better or worse. You’ve got our backs for the longest time. We’re friends, so that means we got you covered too. It’s not really nice to zero us out, Kurusu-kun. We might not have the same power as you, but that doesn’t mean we’ll just let you do all the dirty work.”

Crunch. Munch. Crunch.

“And that is the translation of Makoto’s Working Efficiently 102,” the Empress concluded with a hint of cheerfulness and resumed eating snacks.

“Just…don’t get careless, okay?” Kurusu conceded, slumping at Sakamoto’s sofa, releasing the breath he never knew he was holding for a long time. “What did I do to deserve you all?”

“You probably just make badass coffee,” Takamaki quipped, the dread she was feeling somehow diffused into the air until only faint traces were left. “Though Lover’s Potion was amazing, the original Potion packs caffeine and manliness in one neat cup, but Kurusu’s rendition of Hachiko is a long road to travel, right Morgana?”

“I had lessons about sculpting, and despite having not enough training, I suppose I can teach you a thing or two,” Kitagawa offered, his artistic eccentricity kicking off, his mind train devising several ways on how to make the perfect coffee foam.

“Hope it tastes nice. I’ve only had macchiato and chai latte, plus those test subjects that Kurusu brought during Palace infiltrations,” Okumura giggled again, recalling how some drinks were too weird tasting that no one else in the group aside from her tried those again.

Morgana hopped on Kurusu’s shoulder. “See? Your fears are unfounded after all!” he exclaimed, causing uncomfortable ringing in the leader’s left ear.

“But Sakamoto – ”

“I’m sure he feels the same way,” Nijima cut in, smiling weakly to appease Kurusu’s trepidation. “He simply can’t accept you dying in his place. It’s the same for us here, but I think Sakamoto’s a special case; he’s the only one who saw your ‘cadaver’. You’re his closest person, best friend even, so it’s not a surprise that he’ll take your initial proposal to the extreme. I hope you took that into consideration before setting up a congregation tonight.

“But there’s no use thinking of what-ifs now; just do what you can from this point onward. Am I clear, Kurusu?” the Priestess asked light-heartedly.

“Crystal.”

“Now let’s scram. It’s dark out, pops will be ballistic if I arrived later than nine, and as much as I would love to crash senpai’s place, I’m afraid I would smell like two men once I step out of the café,” Sakura stated with an evil grin, eyebrows wiggling suggestively at the leader, almost like sending a Morse code encrypted with SSL.

Message intercepted, however.

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Oh no, Haru-senpai. You just know,” the sadistic side of the Hermit cackled, causing goosebumps to appear on Kurusu’s arms.

“They do act like a married couple 85% of the time, according to what I’ve learned so far,” Kitagawa bluntly stated, reminiscing his hangout sessions with the leader. Morgana nodded as if his head would fall off and scampered to lounge on the blue-haired teen’s shoulder instead.

“Geez, we’re not to discuss my love life or the lack thereof,” Kurusu groaned, hands running through his hair in frustration.

“Your ‘geez’ sounded like Sakamoto for a second.” Sakura’s evil side just loved fanning the flames of woe. “But well, time never stops, so let’s get our asses off here and call it a night!”

“All the better. A grumpy Kurusu is always bad news,” Takamaki noted, flipping her hair elegantly as she picked her bag and headed downstairs, following Okumura and Nijima, with Kitagawa trailing behind, Morgana whispering something on the male’s ear. The owner of the shop, Sakura-san, told everyone to be safe for things were turning grave by the minute, and as a conspirator, he must see to it that the members were well.

“If you have nothing more to say, then please see yourselves out.”

Sakura mock-saluted. “Yup! And remember to lock up as Sakamoto ordered.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kurusu noted, and when the bells chimed, Kurusu let his confident façade down. “Um, thanks for cheering me up. And I almost forgot that nothing gets past you.”

“Damn right. I’m bound to notice sooner or later, like that Dia spam issue,” she said cryptically. “There are some things cannot be repaired by mere recovery spells, Kurusu-senpai.”

Kurusu cleared his throat, steering the topic away from the forbidden territory.

“Anyway, back to business. Did you bring what I requested?”

Sakura’s eyes lit up at the beginning of the barter; she’s one of the people who thought money made the world a slightly better place.

“A deal’s a deal! Be glad that I got a really nice discount online. Now show me the money!”

Kurusu flashed an amazed expression, pulling out a wad of bills from his canvas wallet and receiving the goods from their hot-and-cold navigator. “Just wondering how far your ‘connections’ can reach. Was it that difficult to find this?”

“On a scale of one to ten with ten being extremely hard, it’s around…0.63, plus or minus 0.0025.”

Kurusu had the urge to slump. “My haggling capabilities are way below your standards. Please forget I even asked.”

“No worries! All for senpai’s plans of world domination! Besides, you’re not slaving yourself at the gay bar and the maid café for nothing. Items bought online are cheaper by ten percent and I can pull some strings to hit rock bottom prices which I can’t disclose; if shops by the Shibuya Crossing would sell everything at ‘that’ cost, they’d go broke in three days, tops,” she explained in a single breath.

“You can probably make Tanaka file for bankruptcy. Thanks for you effo…wait. You _knew_ where I work?”

“I only have connections, Tanaka has a freakin’ empire. No way I’m gonna win that. And yes, I’ve been keeping tabs on _everyone_ since you stepped into the house. Maybe I should charge extra for keeping my lips sealed, no?” she chided playfully, only to hear bells jingling again and Nijima popping her head from the stairs to remind Sakura that they got to bounce ASAP.

The navigator winked and went downstairs, leaving Nijima staring at the flabbergasted leader.

“Talk to Sakamoto, okay?” she said shortly before joining the rest of the gang.

And soon, the pad was silent.

“Looks like I’ll be alone for a while.” Dropping the cool and stoic façade, he fumed at his own misgivings. Just when he thought they’d be closer, he pissed the hell out of the young man he held most dear.

People are selfish creatures, he thought, himself included. Once someone had tasted the bliss of mundane, day-to-day life and a sprinkling of heated banters and occasional teasing, they could never stop asking for a little bit more each time. He chuckled wryly at his own predicament: this setup escalated to the point that just having Sakamoto around was simply not enough.

“So this is what cliché shoujo manga characters often feel, huh?” he muttered, rising from the sad excuse of a sofa bed, before rummaging his messy work desk until he found some used cardboard boxes and leftover gift wrapping paper – he was practicing how to wrap a cube for days now and like making a crafted coffee, he could never make it right.

_“Ah, well, time to get started. Wouldn’t want to get caught red-handed.”_

Kurusu stretched his arms and eyed the ZOMG! wristwatch sitting on Sakamoto’s snoozing spot. Fingers crossed, he prayed that Sakamoto won’t be back until he winged this crafting session. He felt bad chasing the Chariot out of the door; it wasn’t planned at all, he’s about to ask Sakamoto to walk the girls home and do groceries after the meeting. Hell, he was merely being honest that he wouldn’t want anyone, much more Sakamoto, to face the culmination of their actions if it turned out to be a bust.

At the very least, Operation: Kicking Sakamoto Off the Pad For A Few Hours happened serendipitously. He could only handle so much embarrassment; the blonde might snicker at his lack of artistic capabilities, and a surprise gift wouldn’t be that surprising anymore if he saw what he had been working his ass off for several weeks.

Morgana never pounced upstairs, and Kurusu assumed he was playing with the gem-encrusted nodding cat at the café counter; the Magician’s love for catnip and anything shiny would keep him busy for a while. Pacing downstairs for a drink, the Fool’s assumption was confirmed, the cat purring dreamily and patting the head to make it bob more, much to Sakura-san’s amusement. Typical cat behavior.

The owner of the shop promising to close up before he leaves, Kurusu left the shapeshifter to his ministrations, sent a nod to Sakura-san who smiled all fatherly while making drip coffee, and headed back to his shared room to watch an online video about gift wrapping and hoped for the best.

Yet his best wasn’t good enough, if the clutter on Sakamoto’s sofa (which is a bed now) would be any indication. Kitagawa stated before that every masterpiece had an inspiration behind it, no matter how big or small, as long as it drove the artist to perform.

“Inspiration, huh?”

If sitting on Sakamoto’s property wasn’t enough, then…

“Got it.”

The wifebeater on the headboard, which Sakamoto haphazardly stripped for they woke up this morning with the first period starting in 30 minutes, caught his eye and he decided that it was the one he was looking for.

“How can he wear this while sleeping and not shiver in cold?” Kurusu complained, the tank hanging loosely against his figure, and true enough, he wished he could have a blazer too. “Tch. Might as well turn the heat up.”

Overall, it wasn’t very effective.

The warmth emanating from the corner of the room licked his skin nicely (admittedly, Sakamoto’s nightwear was comfortable), the ordeal with the gang earlier, and having sleepless nights watching the same DIY video multiple times took its toll and lulled him closer to dreamland, leaving the unfinished business lying lazily among the clutter, set in a peaceful, silent abandon.

 

* * *

 

Kurusu believed there must be an earthquake happening. A huge tremor commenced and it pulled him a little to the land of the living.

Senses muddled, he took a deep breath, yawned and rubbed his eyes, clearing his throat when his vision sorted itself up. There was his roommate lounging beside him, using the headboard as a recliner.

“…Sakamoto?” he croaked, mind still fuzzy from sleep. A playful yet a tad painful flick nudged him to the border of conscious world, letting his thought process grind slowly; he somehow lost his glasses during sleep, there was a hint of cigarette smoke in the air, it felt significantly warmer, and the bed was virtually clutter-free.

That didn’t make any sense.

A sigh and a carefree voice rang in his ears.

“It’s Ryuji,” the blonde said, sounding a gentler than usual, as if the event when Joker got shot was yesterday.

Kurusu aimed to get up and continue working but the hand carefully messing his locks and massaging his scalp was getting too comfortable.

“I thought you’d be back tomorrow.”

A chuckle. “Nah, I’ve had a change of heart.”

“Okay, I’m positive that I’m dreaming the best case scenario now,” Kurusu mumbled, smacking his lips and closed his eyes once more, opting to delve deeper into REM phase of acute somnolence.

 

* * *

 

Kurusu Akira preferred to sleep in during weekends, laying an arm on his body pillow and pulling the covers higher until everything but his head was covered with slightly scruffy yet warm sheets.

And pull as he may, his hand met zero resistance. The body pillow felt warm, and the drafts tickled the hairs on his arms.

Based on his deductions, he wasn’t wearing a sweatshirt, his bed felt bumpy and smelled faintly of an ashtray, and his body pillow seemed to breathe due to the rise and fall motions his arm exhibited.

“About time you woke up, sleepyhead.”

The pillow talked?

That startled him, forcing his eyes open but squinting quickly due to morning light. It was a good thing he wasn’t facing the window or he’d be blind for good ten seconds.

“Sakamoto,” he said, voice raspy, his senses registering an arm holding him in place, calloused hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. “Why are you here?”

“It’s Ryuji. And duh. It’s my bed.”

“Right,” he groaned and tried to get up, failing completely when Sakamoto wiggled a bit and held him just a bit tighter, shoulder being poked slightly by some sort of smooth, warm metal. “Huh?”

Kurusu almost jumped.

“Good morning to you too, Aki – er, Kurusu.”

“What happened last night?”

“This and that?”

“Eloquent,” he hissed, but he was getting really comfortable it’d a waste to spoil the rare instance of waking up with Sakamoto, mimicking their morning after in Hawaii, only with the blonde actually holding him. “Seriously, you expect me to buy that?”

Sakamoto’s chuckling resonated, and Kurusu found it highly relaxing that he might fall asleep again. “Geez, lighten up! You were probably in the middle of doing that crafty stuff and you dozed off. It’s a pain to carry you to that cold bed of yours so I invited myself. We’re both toasty, we’re both tired, I fell asleep, there. Win-win situation. Nothing happened!”

The Fool stayed silent, staring at his roomie who saw something interesting on the ceiling. To his surprise, his brain clicked, making the connection why the blonde corrected him, once, or maybe twice, and be addressed by his given name. And probably that’s why he tried calling him Akira now.

A shrug and the Chariot’s eyes trained to him despite his head not budging an inch, crinkling in its usual Skull-like manner; playful, unfocused, and crude yet extremely deadly.

“Yet.”

For a gentleman that he was, he still possessed the audacity to be embarrassed.

“Besides, I scored a nice watch!”

“…you’re not supposed to get that until tonight.”

“So this IS actually for me.”

“Nope, it’s for Morgana.”

“Huh. Well, he would like it. It’s got the bling factor to boot.”

Sakamoto wiggled, adjusting himself to be more comfy, bringing Kurusu as close as his semi-cramped bed could handle.

Their talk about the final heist could wait. He’d confess to this idiot formally after all this damn trouble has been dealt with.

For the meantime, he’d allow himself to be selfish.

“You don’t mind, well, sharing this bed with me?”

The blonde sighed contentedly, his thumb running circles on the leader’s bare arm, his words cliché that almost bordered lameness, but for a certain cat burglar, those words were better than anything he could acquire from launching surprise attacks, picking locks, hacking codes, formulating heist plans, and even sweet-talking all the other conspirators.

 

“Sharing is caring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried. I died. I dieded.
> 
> The world needs more Chariot x Fool x Chariot goodness. Seriously.

**Author's Note:**

> Hm. I tried. Lol.
> 
> Now back to resuming my normal life which consists of a tutoring job, semi-massive online gaming, and slacking off while having self-scheduled ciggy breaks which meant anytime le mouth twitches for one.
> 
> See ya my lovelies. :)


End file.
